


all the stars that light the road

by orphan_account



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Everyone Is Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Justin Foley Needs a Hug, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s eleven thirty-two and Clay’s at the 24-hour public library, and he’s pretty sure that Clay’s the only guy he’s ever met that could say shit like that and have everyone in his life unflinchingly believe it.It’s eleven thirty-two and he’s terrified.OrJustin asks for help when he needs it.
Relationships: Justin Foley & Bryce Walker, Justin Foley & Clay Jensen, Justin Foley & The Jensens
Comments: 25
Kudos: 201





	all the stars that light the road

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey =)  
> Justin Foley deserved a lot better than what he got. I really hope some people enjoy this. Please feel free to come talk to me, tell me if you love this or absolutely hate it, or just talk to me about Justin, I'm still in quarantine and desperate for social interaction. I hope everyone is doing okay and staying safe.  
> My Tumblr is gypsymishka if you want to come say hi =)

Clay had asked him why he used drugs before, probably more times than everyone else in his life combined, but he’d never really _asked_ him. He shot out these rapid-fire questions when he was frustrated and ranting, barely pausing to _breathe,_ let alone wait for an answer, and that’s probably a good thing because he has no idea how either of them would navigate it if he told him the truth.

Doesn’t want to picture Clay’s face upon hearing that Justin had given his first handjob at five years old while his mom slept in the room next to him. About how much more terrifying the middle-aged, suburban predators he knew from his time on the streets were, compared to the skeletal men with blown pupils that his mom would bring home from bars.

About how he’s never known a man as caring and trustworthy as Matt, and how he still gets nervous when Matt comes into their room at night to talk to them.

It’s eleven thirty-two and Clay’s at the 24-hour public library, and he’s pretty sure that Clay’s the only guy he’s ever met that could say shit like that and have everyone in his life unflinchingly believe it.

It’s eleven thirty-two and he’s terrified. 

His body’s so wired and hyper-aroused that he can hear his own heart thrumming in his chest, the dull sound of blood rushing in his ears making him more jumpy, because he’s not going to hear any footsteps approaching the room that way. 

And he _knows_ no one in the Jensen household would hurt him.

But knowing something on a logical level doesn’t mean shit when his body’s been learning to stay alert for sixteen years and if could explain this to Clay without having to handle the inevitable fallout, that _this_ is why he sometimes shoots himself up with poison and falls into a blissed-out haze, he would.

He’s opened his mobile and pulled Clay’s contact up up on the screen before realising he’s done it, and his thumb hovers over the call button for longer than he’d ever want to admit to.

Clay had once texted him when he needed him and there isn’t a single say that passes without Justin being thankful for that.

The phone dials for several seconds, and then Clay’s talking and for a moment, his chest hurts and he has to blink back tears because he can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up the phone when he needed them, with the exception of Bryce and the Jensens.

‘ _Justin? What’s wrong?’_

He swallows.

‘ _Jesus, Jensen. Can’t I just call to say hi?’_

Clay’s not an idiot. Neither is he. But he doesn’t actually know what he called to say, because _“I can’t sleep by myself and I’m irrationally scared of being molested in your house,”_ sure as shit isn’t the way to go.

And then he hears muffled sounds of books being shuffled on the other end of the line and he thinks Clay understands, not _really_ , not _why_ Justin needs him, but probably at least that he _does._

‘ _I’m on my way home now, dude. Are you okay, though?’_

_‘I’m not about to shoot up between my toes if that’s what you’re asking.’_

_‘It really wasn’t.’_

Clay starts prattling on about an assignment he has for modern history, and Justin’s in that class with him so he should probably recognise that assignment he’s talking about, but he files it away as a problem for later.

By the time Clay gets in, sleep deprived and rumpled from several hours of studying, it’s past midnight.

…………………….

He can’t calm down. 

It’s _better_ with Clay here, in the bed next to his, probably already asleep if not halfway there, but _better_ isn’t the same thing as _okay._

He turns over and kicks at his sheets for, apparently, one more time than Clay can handle listening to, and he’s met with a harsh whisper.

‘ _What the fuck, Justin?’_

And maybe he’s just a bit less receptive to their usual way of communicating than normal tonight, because instead of biting back like he normally would, he flinches and sucks in a sharp inhale that can definitely be heard from Clay’s side of the room.

He knows he’s in the bedroom he shares with Clay, in a house where the doors are locked at night and there’s avocados in the fucking kitchen whenever he wants them. But another part, that he can’t pinpoint but can feel with every nerve, is in the back of an alley, choking on someone he doesn’t know, who won’t let him come up for air. 

And apparently, he’s not keeping that shit in as well as he usually does because Clay’s in front of him with a hand on his knee and another on his shoulder, coaxing him through some breathing exercise and looking more worried than he probably needs to be.

‘ _I’m sorry.’_

He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for, but it feels right to say it anyway.

‘Don’t be.’

When Clay stands up to go back to his own bed and he decides that whatever dignity he’d had before tonight was probably long gone anyway, he silently follows him. 

If his brother is surprised in any way, he doesn’t say anything. Just rolls further across the mattress to give him more room. 

He doesn’t know how much Clay knows.

To this day, he doesn’t even really know how much Bryce knew, and they were best friends for nearly a decade.

He’s never had the stomach to handle those kind of conversations.

There’s something that’s been playing in the back of his head for several weeks now, and the thought of broaching it alone is only slightly more terrifying than the thought of branching it with Clay.

So he does.

‘I need to ask you something and I really, _really_ need you to be cool about it, cause I’m not.’

And he can feel Clay stiffen slightly beside him, which is fair enough because God knows he doesn’t have the best track record with _anything,_ but there’s a hand pulling him in so close that they’re almost cuddling. He cuddles into Zach sometimes, used to cuddle with Bryce until they turned thirteen and Bryce refused to even hug him unless Justin was upset about something.

‘What’s wrong?’

He takes a really deep breath. Lets it out slowly.

‘I think I need to get tested. Like, for HIV and stuff. And I’m fucking terrified and I need you to come with me or I’m not gonna do it.’

There’s a stretch of silence and he doesn’t want to call attention to himself by wiping at the tear on his cheek.

‘Of course I’ll come with you, dude.’

His breaths are coming out in short huffs and he knows that they both know he’s crying, but Clay doesn’t get weird about it.

‘And it’s okay, you know. If you’re positive. There’s antiretroviral meds and you’ll be fine.’

‘I know.’

‘I could get tested, too, if it’ll make you feel better. Like, solidarity or something.’

It makes him feel loved beyond belief.

‘Yeah. Okay. Um, thank you. I don’t-‘

‘You’re my brother. You’re a dumbass but I’d do anything for you, dude.’

He falls asleep in Clay’s bed in a house where there’s avocados in the kitchen and he’s never felt as safe as he does in that moment.


End file.
